| 530 Years Post War |
The crack of the whip against the horses back echoed through the forest, thundering hooves following soon after. The steady clicking of the horses feet against the stone road was all that filled the silence. Behind the riding horses, a large wagon completely covered ambled along, a team of six draft horses pulling the wooden structure. At the back of the wagon a single wooden door, reinforced with iron, was latched shut; the single window near the top completely barred. Inside the wagon were six huddled figures, each with skin ranging from a deep brown almost black, to the singular figure with skin a silvery grey with the barest hints of flush around the cheeks.
By far the smallest out of all the figures, the being sat tucked into the farthest corner from the door, their body nearly disappearing in the shadows. The lilting tongue of those outside the wagon filtered in through the barred window, the voice soft and peaceful. The figure curled in on itself, their head dropping to rest on their knees. The others in the wagon seemed to resign to their fate, their heads drooping down as their bodies slumped against the walls.
Time seemed to blur and meld together as the group stayed in the wagon, the bumps of the wheels over rocks and stone the only way to know they were still moving. The harsh opening of the back door caused all the figures to dart towards the sides, small sounds of pain escaping their mouths as they avoided the very bright beam of sunlight. The figure in the back lifted their head and leveled their stare at the elven guards on the other side of the door, polished metal gleaming in the sun like tiny falling stars. The guards waved the figures out, many resisting until the younger ones were threatened.
The six prisoners were herded towards the open courtyard, the stones gleaming from the work of slaves that went unnoticed. The pale silvery grey figure finally looked up, most of the guards startling at the different colored eyes. The group were finally thrown into the throne room, lined up in front of the king whose long blonde hair fell placidly down his back.
"These are the last of the Dark Elves?" The kings' voice echoed throughout the room, the sultry tone sending shivers down the Dark Elves' spines. The silvery skinned one finally looked around the room, blatantly ignoring the kings eyes that stared holes into her side.
"Do any of you know magic? Or even know of magic?" The advisor beside the king inquired. At least the silvery skinned figure thought it was the advisor. Most others do not speak for the king.
Almost all of them shook their heads no, shoulders drooping down. Their hand rose though. All eyes shot to the smallest of the figures whose hand was raised, mismatched eyes staring blankly at the advisor and the king. A hauntingly beautiful smile split across rosey lips while hands covered in unseeable crimson blood stretched towards the silvery figure.
"Come my dear. Let us watch what happens to those that threaten us." The king grasped the young girl's hand and practically dragged her away from the others, walking back towards the courtyard while the guards herded the others after them. The king brought her to a small overhang over the courtyard, putting her eyes level with the wood contraption in the center. The hanging rope swung in the light breeze, singing its own hauntingly silent melody. Playing its own notes to the tune of death.
She watched as the elves she traveled with on the way here walked up those wooden stairs, the creaking of the wood ringing the bells to death so they would know another soul was on their doorstep. The oldest was first, though the girl didn't know what was happening. She watched with rapt interest. Do they do tricks? Did they try to prove they could do magic? Did they-
The echoing crack from the Dark Elf's neck being cracked halted her train of thought faster than a wolf in front of a galloping horse. A startled scream escaped her lips as she watched the small leader of their group hang lifeless from the coiled snake wrapped around her neck. The body was brought up just enough that the serpent could let go before being carelessly dropped to the floor in a crumpled heap.
The others started struggling to get away, their eyes wide and scared. The king simply waved a hand and the next elf was brought to the serpent, its fangs gleaming. Ready to escort another being right into the arms of death herself. The silver skinned girl started struggling against the king's hold, pleas escaping her lips.
The serpent didn't hesitate as it wrapped around the male elfs slender neck, his dark grey, almost black skin gleaming in the sun. His eyes locked onto hers and he mouthed a word before he was shoved off the platform, the serpent holding fast. His eyes held hers until the breath finally left him, his body slumping forward.
One after the other the great serpent chose his victims, fatal accuracy leaving the elf to struggle for a moment before falling limp. Dead at its feet. The last one was the one that was the hardest. The second youngest of the group, only a few winters older than herself. She struggled the hardest, tears streaming down her face like rivers, pleas falling on deaf ears. Just before the serpent could take her the kings' voice rang out.
"No. Do it yourself. Let our new mage see what happens when you oppose us." The king led her down to the bottom of the courtyard, sitting her on a log directly in front of a huge stone box covered in dark brown spots. With a confused look the struggling elf was brought to her knees in front of the block, her head tilted sideways and her body held in place. Her head and shoulders were shoved onto the block, eyes directly facing the younger elf. Mismatched eyes widened in sudden fear and she started struggling against the king's hold, screaming for him to stop.
She could try, her magic-. No. The last time she used it she nearly blew apart her mentor. No, no, no. "Elverie!" She shouted, broken sounds escaping her mouth. The king lifted a hand and a sharpened axe was poised above Elverie's head. Her magic burst forward to latch onto the girl, connecting their minds and putting the other elf into a memory. One of happiness from the village.
"Live Remys. Live." Elverie's voice sounded in the memory before the king dropped his head, the axe following suit. Red mist sprayed in all directions, the sickening crunch of bones being crushed following.
Remys stared at the headless body of her friend, her mouth hanging open in a silent scream, her eyes barren of tears.
"Live Remys-" the voice faded away before the rest of the words could be heard but it brought little comfort to Remys. No one would know the darkness she faced, the pain she fought through, until they switched places with her and watched as the king mounted her friend's head on a spike in the center of the courtyard like a trophy.
Of a battle that there was never even a chance of winning.